Dalton Apartments
by PinkSunglassesandKlainebows
Summary: 50's Klaine. Dalton is a town for unusual adolescents from ages 14-22. Everyone lives in one of two apartment buildings. Klaine-centric, expect to see the more unusual members of The New Directions, Warblers, and Vocal Adrenaline.


**AN: So, my inspiration has been dwindling lately, therefore I'm on a mini hiatus from them and I'm starting this, which I feel super hopeful about. Enjoy **

**Here we have it, folks, 50's Klaine.**

**IMPORTANT SUMMARY-PLEASE READ: **

**This is a fic about Klaine living in the fifties, but with a twist. So many old-fashioned fics are focused on discrimination. This is just going to focus on Klaine. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Elle, you idiot, are you apeshit crazy? There WAS discrimination back then, you buffoon. To that I have to say: listen to this crazy thing I came up with. Here goes. **

**Dalton is a discrimination-free town where families with send their **_**individual **_**children. (aka gay, lesbian, bisexual, cross-dressing, geeky, odd-looking, disabilities like Aspergers, etc. Anyone rejected by society, really.) Everyone lives in one of two nice apartment buildings and goes to Dalton Public, the large school they have. Expect to see the odder people from The Warblers, New Directions, and even Vocal Adrenaline. **

The day his dad suggests Dalton is one of the worst days of his life. Not because of Dalton, per say, but because of the day he'd endured before coming home to his dad sitting, grim-looking on the couch with a singular pamphlet sitting unfolded on the coffee table in front of him. Karofsky and the others had been particularly cruel today, shoving and sneering and shouting slurs about what Kurt was, as if they knew better than he his-his-_condition._ Though, considering that Kurt himself barely knew anything about what he was, that wasn't a large feat.

Nonetheless, it wasn't exactly a godsend to recognize Dalton's name emblazoned on the piece of paper that would decide his future, no matter how much of a godsend it would actually be. He sat down gingerly; he didn't want the bruises to stay longer than necessary.

"Kurt," his father began in a soft voice. Kurt didn't know whether it was the stress of the day, the week, the _year_, bearing down on him, but he piped up before Burt Hummel could continue.

"Say no more, I'll pack my bags."

*Time Break*

Kurt was standing in front of Dalton with 75% of his worldly possessions piled in the station wagon behind him. He could see, in the distance, two tall buildings, presumably the apartments, a cute looking diner, a Five-and-Dime, and a small market. He turned to his father, who had supported him through the whole mess that was about to end as soon as he stepped past the hand painted 'Welcome To Dalton' sign. He sighed, brushing his fingers against the cherry red, cursive W at the beginning of the word 'Welcome' on the sign. He'd never been welcome, not by anyone. Mocked by his peers, friendless, no one to love. But here would be different. His new home would be his savior.

After signing the papers for the apartment and pressing a month's worth of pocket money into Kurt's hand, which was trembling with excitement, for once, instead of fear, and helping him move his bags into the lobby of the nice, homey building, his father wrapped him in a bear hug, wished him the best of luck, promised he would visit in a month, and departed. Kurt waved until his car was a speck in the distance.

As Kurt looked at his heap of luggage, he internally bemoaned his tendency to over-pack. How was he going to get all this crap into his apartment? Just as he was about to give up and give his dad a ring at home to help, a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned around to find a girl in a pink poodle skirt and polka-dot blouse looking at him cheerily; blonde pony tail swinging was she bounced lightly in obvious jubilation.

"Hello!" she peeped, like an excited chick "I'm Brittany S. Pierce. You can call me Brittney. But not Britt Britt. Santana says Britt Britt is only hers." Kurt looked at her confusedly, but nevertheless stuck out his hand.

"Kurt Hummel." His hand was uncomfortably crushed against his chest as she launched herself at him, wrapping her surprisingly strong arms around his body. Kurt stood, arms dangling, mouth in a small 'o' as she continued to embrace him.

That was, until _another _person showed up. He couldn't see them clearly, as Brittany's hair was in his face, but identified him as a boy when a smooth voice said "Britt, what did we say about hugging strangers?" in a tone as if he was chiding a small child. Brittany slowly pulled her arms off of Kurt in order to form a small shrug and reply a simply "Not to." Before flouncing off calling "San, where are you?"

He was left standing with the boy, who he could properly observe now. He was dressed in rolled pants and a button up shirt. His hair was springy and curly, and his eyes were honey gold with lightning flashes of evergreen streaking across them. He was shorter than Kurt by about two inches, and toned-looking, sleek.

The boy began to talk in that same smooth voice. "Golly, I'm sorry about Brittany. She's a sweetie, really, but she's not all right in the head. Blaine Anderson, by the way."

The boy was so pretty, Kurt lost his usual eloquence. All he could do was stutter out "Kurt Hummel." and then "Is it alright to ask why people are here, or…"

Blaine grinned "Not at all. See, I didn't even introduce myself properly." He stuck out his hand with exaggerated vigor. "Blaine Anderson, nice to meet you, Kurt, I like boys. And you?"

Kurt cracked a smile and shook Blaine's hand saying slyly "Kurt Hummel, The pleasure is mine, ditto." Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Gee, now me and Sebastian won't be the only ones! Maybe now that you're here he'll stop trying to convince me that we're the only ones on earth like this so we should be together." He said dryly, punctuated with an eye roll.

Now it was Kurt's turn to raise a brow. Blaine sighed dejectedly and realized that he was now obligated to explain.

"He's a bit…promiscuous?"

"I see. I hope you don't hold yourself in the same regard?"

"Oh geez, no! I've never even- I've not- I," Blaine stuttered and finally settled on "I've, uh, never been or done anything like that." He says, blush rising on his cheeks. Kurt pats his arm. "S'okay, neither have I. Now, where's your apartment, because I've got 2B, and I need help with all this luggage. Blaine smiles coyly "5B."

*Time Break*

Kurt and Blaine drop the luggage at Kurt's doorstep, panting from exertion. The red-faced duo smile at each other as Kurt produces a small silver key from his pocket and opens the door. Blaine clomps in and flops on the provided couch. "By gosh, Kurt, what's in your suitcases? Rocks? And why so many? Did you pack all of your records or something nutso like that?"

Kurt kicks in his luggage, shuts the door, and sits primly next to his new friend, eternally careful of those darn bruises. But he knows they'll heal in time. And, he figures, by the time the last locker-slat-shaped mark disappears, his body will be as free as his soul.


End file.
